Ron I'm Scared
by HelixForward
Summary: I genuinely wished to somehow transfer the emotions into my own body from her fragile one so she would no longer have to bare the hardships. However I remained lying on the floor with my cool lips pressed daintily to her warm hand, not opening my eyes.


**Disclaimer:  
**I do not own anything about the Harry Potter book series. Not the plot, not the places, not the characters, etc. They all belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling and I do not in any way, shape, or form intend to pass them off as my own.

**Author's Note:**  
I'm rereading The Deathly Hallows before the film is released this November and once I reread the first paragraph of chapter ten (I've included it below) this idea immediately came to mind.  
If you have any questions and/or comments please leave them in a review. Beneficial criticism, whether it is good or bad, is welcome. If you spot any grammar errors please notify me as well; I'm not the best whenever it comes to proof reading. Thank you for reading! =]  
- Kelly

**Ron… I'm Scared  
**~** A Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger One Shot **~  
_As told from Ron's point-of-view…_

"_A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains: It was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet except for Ron and Hermione's slow, deep breathing. Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside him. Ron had had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Ron's. Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands."_ **– Most of the opening paragraph of Chapter Ten: Kreacher's Tale in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.**

Life.

Never will I ever hear another common yet somewhat contradicting word. Everyone who breathes air is rightfully given it, only some don't truly have a life but more of a mere existence. It's scary, depressing thought. And most who are fortunate enough to have years filled with love and compassion don't seem to realize what it actually means before time has almost expired. In my opinion, that is an even more frightening consideration.

My dad always showed me the difference amid what's right and what's wrong; how it is never unjust to speak up or stand up for your views. My mum has always and continues to fuss over me, not caring that I find it horribly annoying for she does so out of concern. My siblings, friends, and I have had our rivalry and shouts but those issues will forever dim in comparison to the laughs we've had. I have never been able go out and buy whatever I want whenever I want, but what I have acquired has been given with much consideration. Sure, I've had a couple of days from Hell likewise as you, but all in all I have been lucky. Very blessed indeed.

I have only come to comprehend this fact just recently. Shame on me, tsk-tsk. I was born with almost nothing material wise yet I am one of the most spoilt, bratty people who have ever disgraced the Earth. I have never once really sat down and thought about what would happen if my parents, one of my siblings, and/or a friend dies tomorrow; I've always believed that would come on later, far along from the present. But I have now grasped that this could happen at any second, especially with the current conditions that we dwell in. Any measly moment someone I love could literally vanish out of diaphanous space, on no account having the capability to speak to me again. Or even somewhat worse, I could soon not have the ability to speak to them again.

Only would it honestly be worse? For those I love yes, but for me no – I don't think I wouldn't have the simplest clue that I was dead. Sometimes I have believed it would be best if a Death Eater or You-Know-Who just finished me off, sparing me the turmoil. No. That cowardly dream cannot happen, leaving those I care for alone. For possibly the first time in my life, I will stand up and be a man.

These thoughts of anguish consumed me – taking over my every waking and slumbering hour – even when I was most relaxed. Nothing could stop the ideas from popping into my head. Nothing. The thoughts chilled me to the very core of my bones and made me sense vulnerability, weakness, helplessness.

I stared out into the stillness of the living room, hearing naught a sound but the cackle of the mildly glowing fire about fifteen feet from where I laid on the cold floor. The curtains of the windows in the room were slightly separated and revealed a starry dotted, pitch-black hued sky topped off with nearly a bit of moon. The view was so calming I had almost drifting into unconsciousness but halted whenever I harkened her sudden velvety voice.

"Ron… I'm scared."

I closed my eyes at the echo and imagined myself wrapped up in her tone. As fearful as her sweet voice was, it still offered me comfort and familiarity.

She was another reason I was petrified. The thought of someone snatching, or even trying to capture, Hermione from me made my blood boil like water in a teapot. I couldn't ever picture myself not being able to smell her sweet perfume or never again being amazed by her intelligence. For my own personal future that I planned out, every aspect of it was centered on her. I would no longer breathe myself before she couldn't; I would straightforwardly make sure of it even if I had to go to Hell and back.

Opening my orbs, I turned around onto my other hip to face the furniture beside of me upon which she lay. The scene before me shattered my heart so severely you could have easily threaded its pieces through the eye of a needle. The fire didn't radiate enough in order for me to unmistakably make out every line in her face; however I could still distinguish her expression. She was beautiful as she lay on her left side with her hand hanging off the edge of the sofa, three inches away from touching me. She gazed at me with an obvious look of uncertainty. I would imagine my aura matched hers identically. Her sympathetic eyes stared solely into my fatigued ones. Her rosey mouth was slightly agape, not asking the questions she so desperately wanted to because she knew neither of us held the answers.

"I'm scared too..."

I uttered my reply slowly and as I did so, brought her dangling hand into mine. Closing my eyes and softly brushing my lips to the palm of hers, my ears caught her sigh of weariness. I instantly was devoured by the overwhelming urge to stand up and pull her into my opening arms; I truly wanted to take away any sorrow or anxiety she had by doing the gesture. I genuinely wished to somehow transfer the emotions into my own body from her fragile one so she would no longer have to bare the hardships. However I remained lying on the floor with my cool lips pressed daintily to her warm hand, not opening my eyes yet. I wanted to drink up the moment that we were sharing together like Ogden's Old Firewhiskey – the liquid's burn down my throat similar to the present ache in my heart. It was the moment that could be our last and I plainly had to have it forever etched into my brain.

After about ten minutes of no change in our position, I unwilling brought my head up from the kiss. I peered up at her form on the sofa that was now only faintly illuminated by the receding fire. I wasn't able to clearly make out any of her features anymore but saw that her eyes were closed and the skin beneath them was shining with fallen tears. I assumed she was asleep for her breathing was more leisure and greatly deeper than normal. I locked my fingers with hers delicately, not daring to arouse her from the doze. I placed our joined hands against my heart.

Softly I whispered only to have the words merely fall upon deafness, "Me too 'Moine, I'm scared too... More than you could ever imagine."


End file.
